It's Time To Be With My Brother

She’s Not Pretty, That Word Is Too Small. She Is Not Like The Girls I Used To Stare At, All Bend And Curve And Softness. She Is Small But Strong, And Her Bright Eyes Demand Attention. Looking At Her Is Like Waking Up.

Who Cares About Everyone? What About Me?

When I Look At Him, I Don't See The Cowardly Young Man Who Sold Me Out To Jeanine Matthews, And I Don't Hear The Excuses He Gave Afterward. When I Look At Him, I See The Boy Who Held My Hand In The Hospital When Our Mother Broke Her Wrist And Told Me It Would Be All Right. I See The Brother Who Told Me To Make My Own Choices, The Night Before The Choosing Ceremony. I Think Of All The Remarkable Things He Is--smart And Enthusiastic And Observant, Quiet And Earnest And Kind.

I Should Wonder What Courage—which Is The Virtue They Most Value—has To Do With A Metal Ring Through Your Nostril.

When Her Body First Hit The Net, All I Registered Was A Gray Blur. I Pulled Her Across It And Her Hand Was Small, But Warm, And Then She Stood Before Me, Short And Thin And Plain And In All Ways Unremarkable- Except That She Had Jumped First. The Stiff Had Jumped First. Even I Didn't Jump First. Her Eyes Were So Stern, So Insistent. Beautiful.